


Foul Weather Friends

by tookumade



Series: Haikyuu!! Datekou Week - 2015 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/pseuds/tookumade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Number one. That’s our aim.” Futakuchi stretched and tilted his head back, hands reaching towards the bright blue sky like he wanted to grab it. “We’ll defeat every team in this prefecture, and then we’ll keep going. We’ll be number one, nation-wide.”</p><p>(written for Haikyuu!! Datekou Week - Day 2 - second years, weather)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foul Weather Friends

It’s true that it was a different shirt to what he usually wore, and Futakuchi knew that it was just his imagination, but his new volleyball uniform somehow felt so different to the others he had worn in the past: a little rougher, a little heavier. He stared at the underlined number 2, running his fingers along the edges of the print. This was his, now. Wearing this meant that he stood amongst the likes of captains like Shiratorizawa’s Ushijima, Seijou’s Oikawa, and Karasuno’s Sawamura, just to name a few.  
  
“That shirt’s not going to put itself on, you know,” came Onagawa’s voice. Futakuchi looked up to see his fellow second years standing at the entrance of the locker room, smirking, but good-naturedly.  
  
“Leave him alone, Pantalons,” said Obara with mock-seriousness. “He’s just having an identity crisis.”  
  
“Oh, I thought he just wanted us to stare at him shirtless,” Onagawa chimed. Futakuchi quickly pulled the uniform on.  
  
“Actually, I charge per second for that,” he said, flicking his hair out of his face.  
  
“ _Urgh_ , I want my money back.”  
  
“Oiwake-san is calling for us,” said Aone as Futakuchi made a face at Obara.  
  
“Right, right.” Futakuchi clapped his hands briskly; they all noticed the cheekiness vanishing right from his face, replaced by a more determined, much more serious expression, rather like how Moniwa-san had often looked right before a game. “Let’s kick some ass!”  
  
“ _YEAAHH!_ ”  
  
The others turned and filed out of the change room. Aone hung back a little, waiting for Futakuchi to reach the door, and Futakuchi nodded at him with a small smile on his face and a spark in his eyes.  
  
“Let’s go.”  
  
  
  
—  
  
  
  
Nametsu Mai was perfect for the manger’s role: smart, organised, witty, quick to notice things, and not afraid to push people back in line if need be. The only problem was that she had no interest in becoming the manager of _any_ team, and had rejected every club that had asked her.  
  
All Futakuchi had said to Aone when he spotted him before classes started for the day was “I’m going to ask Nametsu to be our manager”, before he nodded determinedly and then dashed off to his maths class, leaving Aone staring at his retreating back, confused.  
  
He soon realised that Futakuchi wasn’t kidding, when lunchtime came and Futakuchi found Aone easily at his locker, and without another word, grabbed his sleeve and hauled him into one of the second years’ classrooms, where Nametsu Mai was seated at her desk and eating a sandwich and reading something from a textbook. Futakuchi hurried over and planted himself in front of her, and with no ounce of delicacy whatsoever, said loudly, “Nametsu, come join the volleyball club and be our manager.”  
  
“Nah,” said Nametsu, not even looking up as she flipped a page in her book. It was as simple as that: no look of surprise, no stammering, no asking what he meant, like his words could have been misinterpreted.  
  
_She really is perfect for the role,_ Aone found himself thinking.  
  
“Hear me out–”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“It’ll be worth your while, I swear.” Futakuchi coughed a little and mumbled with apparent difficulty, “Please.”  
  
Nametsu looked up at him, deadpan. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say ‘please’.”  
  
“It is _not!_ Right, Aone?”  
  
“Well…”  
  
“Never mind,” said Futakuchi hastily. “Anyway, come join us, Nametsu. We really need an extra hand in the support staff. We’re going to get stronger and we’ll keep winning more games, so we really need a manager.”  
  
Nametsu pursed her lips for a moment, before asking slowly, “What’s in it for me?” but not in a way that sounded greedy. There was a hint of curiosity there, but also caution.  
  
“I… don’t know,” said Futakuchi, exasperated. “It looks good for university applications, I guess? Does it? Aone?” Aone shrugged helplessly.  
  
“I can see why you’re not planning on doing anything related to marketing,” said Nametsu dryly. It was Futakuchi’s turn to shrug.  
  
“To be honest, we’re not thinking about ‘later’, about university or whatever,” he said. “There’s too much time to think about that in third year. We’re thinking about ‘now’, before it’s too late. And right ‘now’, we need you.” Nametsu raised her eyebrows, but it was hard to read the expression on her face. Futakuchi continued, “There’s no point in being overly polite and sugar-coating this crap. A manager’s role is tough, there’s a lot to remember and a lot to do, and you’ll probably find yourself wanting to quit sometimes. But we need you. The Iron Wall is awesome, we’re awesome, we’re going to get stronger, and we need a good manager, and you’ve got what it takes to be a good manager, so come join us.”  
  
There was a long pause when Futakuchi finished his spiel. He and Nametsu were locked in an intense staring contest, and Aone looked between the both of them nervously.  
  
“It’s weirdly refreshing, hearing you speak so earnestly,” said Nametsu at last, matter-of-factly. Futakuchi blinked like he hadn’t done so all day.  
  
“Uh, thanks?”  
  
“But I’ll need some time to think about it.”  
  
Their shoulders slumped a little.  
  
“How much time do you need?” asked Aone.  
  
Nametsu rested her chin against her fist and closed her eyes, wrinkling her brow and humming as though exaggeratedly deep in thought. Then, she opened her eyes again and smiled at them, and they held their breaths.  
  
“That’s enough time. Give me a two-week trial being the manager,” she said. “If it doesn’t work out after two weeks–”  
  
“It will work out!” Futakuchi shouted, startling everyone in the classroom. “Oh my god, it will _so_ work out, thank you so much–” He looked ready to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, but instead opted to firmly seize Aone’s arm instead. “The next training session is Saturday morning at nine o’clock–”  
  
“ _Nine_ in the morning?” Nametsu frowned. Their faces fell.  
  
“You can… come in later if you want to sleep in,” said Aone reluctantly. But Nametsu just shook her head.  
  
“No, I was just surprised; I thought it started earlier. Nine is fine. But seriously, do you think training should start earlier? Say, half an hour? It’s not much difference, but you can probably get quite a bit of extra training if you started earlier.”  
  
Aone clapped a hand on Futakuchi’s shoulder. To anyone else, it looked like a reassuring gesture that said ‘See? Things will be okay’, but really, it was because Futakuchi looked ready to launch himself at Nametsu in a grateful hug.  
  
Training sessions started at half past eight from then onwards. After just one week of attending them, Nametsu stopped saying “you” and “your”, and began using “we” and “our”.  
  
  
  
—  
  
  
  
“It feels like just a light sprain, so calm down, all right? I’ve had worse,” Obara was saying in a reassuring tone, half-way through training one day. He had jumped for the ball during block practice but landed badly, yelping in pain as his ankle twisted and he fell back onto the floor.  
  
A handful of the others had converged on him, and Nametsu quickly darted over to hand Obara an ice pack. Futakuchi crouched beside him and fired off a round of questions without pausing for breath: _how are you feeling, how much does it hurt on a scale of one to ten, can you feel your toes, how’s your other foot, how’s the rest of your leg?_ Coach Oiwake had to physically grab Futakuchi by the back of his collar and haul him to his feet.  
  
“Let him breathe, he’ll be okay,” he said with a hint of exasperation in his voice.  
  
“But–”  
  
“Futakuchi.” Coach Oiwake lowered his voice. “We will look after Obara. I know you’re worried, but you need to keep calm and not scare the rest of the team. Make sure their morale isn’t too badly affected. Do so as their captain, all right?”  
  
Futakuchi looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I can’t hear you, captain.”  
  
Futakuchi raised his head. “Yes, coach!” he said sharply. He stepped away and turned to address the rest of the team members, who were staring at him anxiously. He took a deep breath. “Okay, everyone, he’ll be out for the rest of the training, but let’s not get too worried, all right? Let’s continue. Do it for Obara–”  
  
“I’m not _dead_ , Futakuchi!”  
  
“You, _hush!_ ” Futakuchi barked. But he was grateful—this sort of taunting was right up his alley and put him at ease almost right away, and Obara probably knew that. “Injured people shouldn’t sass their captain!”  
  
“Coming from _you_ –”  
  
“You’re sassing me again! _What_ did I just say–”  
  
They bantered back and forth as Nametsu and another member of the coaching staff helped Obara onto his good foot. Coach Oiwake was trying to hide a smile. Uncertain stifled laughter could be heard from the first years, and the other second years occasionally threw in a good-natured jab at Futakuchi’s expense.  
  
“Onwards, brave warrior!” Futakuchi called out, hamming it up a few more notches as Obara was half-carried out of the gymnasium. “Your battle was not in vain!”  
  
“I said I’m not _dead_ , you jackass!” But Obara was grinning.  
  
“Return to us soon, brave warrior! We’ll hold the fort in your stead!” Futakuchi began applauding, quickly joined by Aone, and then the other second years, and eventually the first years too, their applause mixed with relieved laughter as Obara raised a fist into the air like a champion.  
  
The rest of the training session was extra enthusiastic; every one of them took ‘ _do it for Obara_ ’ to heart and they spurred each other on as they trained with twice the fervour of their usual training sessions. At the end of it, they left the gymnasium feeling as though they really were ready to hold the fort in Obara’s stead. Coach Oiwake pulled Futakuchi aside.  
  
“We need to make sure, but it looks like Obara just has a light sprain. With decent rest, he should be back in time for the Spring High.”  
  
Futakuchi exhaled. “Okay. Good.”  
  
“You did well today,” Coach Oiwake said quietly. “You helped the team see that the injury wasn’t too bad, and you pulled together their morale in… typical ‘Futakuchi’ fashion.”  
  
“That’s the only way I know how.” Futakuchi shrugged sheepishly.  
  
“And it worked. When we gave you the captain’s shirt, you said you had big shoes to fill, and you’re right; it’s not going to be an easy road.” Coach Oiwake smiled a little. “But honestly? I think you’re going to be just fine.”  
  
“Yes, coach.” Futakuchi now looked embarrassed, but also encouraged.  
  
“I can’t hear you, captain.”  
  
Futakuchi straightened his back. “Yes, coach!”  
  
  
  
—  
  
  
  
Aoba Jousai walked away, victors, two sets to zero. The Iron Wall had been torn down after just a few months of building it up again.  
  
“So much work to do,” Futakuchi said to Aone beside him as they walked behind Moniwa-san, Kamasaki-san, and Sasaya-san, who had come to watch the match, and were now making their way out of Sendai City Gymnasium and towards their waiting bus.  
  
“We will be fine,” said Aone quietly in that unusually reassuring way of his. Futakuchi just gave a tired little sigh, watching Moniwa pat Koganegawa and Sakunami on their heads (stretching to meet Koganegawa’s height) and telling them that they played well.  
  
“This is your first defeat,” Aone continued, and Futakuchi gave him a startled look before realising he was talking to Nametsu, who had fallen into step beside them. Nametsu nodded thoughtfully.  
  
“Seijou’s captain is as good-looking as everyone says.”  
  
“Oh my _god_ , Nametsu–”  
  
She smiled. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. There’s not a whole lot else I can do at a time like this.”  
  
“Nah, you really helped us out in this tournament,” said Onagawa as he joined them with Obara in tow.  
  
“We could really focus more on the matches, knowing you already had everything else prepared,” added Obara. “Although I guess that means you were basically doing the dirty work for us, so…”  
  
“It’s fine. I knew what to expect,” said Nametsu. “But it was… surprisingly nice, being part of something this big. It was intense, but good.”  
  
“There’ll be more of this, if you stick around,” said Onagawa.  
  
“The next lot of preliminaries will be in March. We don’t have a lot of time until then.” Futakuchi ran his hand through his hair roughly. “I need to re-think the training schedule. Koganegawa needs special practice, but Moniwa-san will be too busy with third-year stuff to train him in setting, so I need to figure that out, too.”  
  
“At least relax for a day, will you?” said Nametsu. “You played really hard today, so you need to rest, otherwise you’ll get injured and we’ll have to deal with you griping at us from the sidelines all through our next practice.”  
  
“I do not _gripe_ –”  
  
“Yes, you do,” the other second years chorused. But they were grinning amicably as Futakuchi made mock-indignant faces at them.  
  
“Top eight,” said Aone. They looked at him; he was staring at Futakuchi earnestly. “In the prefecture.”  
  
“Ooh, yeah! Captained Datekou to the top eight schools,” said Nametsu. “Not bad for a first tournament as captain, Sass Machine.”  
  
“Captain Sass Machine,” Onagawa whispered.  
  
“Captain Sass,” Obara added.  
  
“That’s not good enough, though,” said Futakuchi, pointedly ignoring all the Sass Machine comments. “Number one. That’s our aim.” He stretched and tilted his head back, hands reaching towards the bright blue sky like he wanted to grab it. “We’ll defeat every team in this prefecture, and then we’ll keep going. We’ll be number one, nation-wide.”  
  
There was a long, almost breathless silence as his words took hold of them. Number one. Why not? Why the hell not? Seijou, Karasuno, Shiratorizawa—why the hell not? They had the foundations to do so. They would improve—be stronger and sharper and better. They could do it. They could make it real. It was absolutely possible.  
  
“Come on, you lot! The bus is waiting!” Coach Oiwake called out, startling them from their thoughts.  
  
“Last one on board has to sit next to Kamasaki-san,” said Obara, and just like that, they sprinted towards the bus like their lives depended on it. Only Futakuchi and Aone hung back a little, exchanging tired smiles that only a captain and vice-captain could understand.  
  
“‘We’,” said Aone. “Not ‘I’.”  
  
“Yeah.” Futakuchi nodded. “‘We’.”  
  
  
  
—  
  
  
  
“ _Go, go, let’s go, let’s go, Datekou!_ ”  
  
Even from the change rooms, they could hear the Datekou support group cheering their hearts out, and it sent shivers down their spines and lit fires in their chests like nothing else. The March preliminaries were finally here. Months of training, sweat, bruises, occasional bleeding, spikes to the face, and yelling from Coach Oiwake and Futakuchi had led them to this. Futakuchi pulled his shirt on easily like it was something familiar to him now; it was time to do this uniform proud.  
  
“Ready, captain?” said Obara, and their teammates all turned their gazes to him.  
  
Futakuchi flicked his hair from his eyes. “One day, you’ll call me captain and it won’t sound like you’re taking the piss out of me.” But he smiled when their teammates all grinned back at him. He clapped his hands sharply.  
  
“Let’s go win!”  
  
“ _YEAAHH!_ ”  
  
They headed onto the courts, and their support group’s cheering exploded in excited screaming: “ _DATEKOU! DATEKOU! DATEKOU!_ ”  
  
Nametsu dropped her large duffel bag down onto the bench on their side of the court and looked up to see Futakuchi raise his eyebrows at her inquiringly.  
  
“Ready for anything you throw at me,” said Nametsu, smiling proudly. Futakuchi held out his fist, and she returned the fistbump.  
  
As with any other tournament, everything from there was a familiar procedure: as the others warmed up, Futakuchi greeted and shook hands with the opponent team’s captain, and the referee took them through the coin toss.  
  
“We’ll be receiving first,” Futakuchi told Coach Oiwake, who nodded.  
  
“Good. Are you ready?”  
  
“Yes, coach!”  
  
The warm up soon drew to a finish at the referee’s whistle, and all the teams lined up on either side of the court and faced each other. “ _Let’s have a good game!_ ” echoed throughout the vicinity. The air was dense with excitement and emotion that was building up as the seconds passed. Futakuchi took a deep breath. They were ready for this. They were ready.  
  
“You have all been through a lot over these past couple of months,” Coach Oiwake told the players as they crowded around him. “Your training has been tough, but you have endured it, and that will only benefit you. It is time to reap the rewards. You are all in excellent form, and you know what is expected from you, so get out there, and show everybody what the Iron Wall is capable of!”  
  
“ _YEAH!_ ”  
  
The starting order huddled on the court in a small circle, arms around each other’s shoulders. They all stared at Futakuchi expectantly: Aone to his right—Aone, who had stuck with him since the beginning—Obara to his left, Fukiage and Onagawa opposite him grinning widely, and Koganegawa and Sakunami looking ready to burst with energy. Futakuchi’s hand clenched a little tighter around Aone’s shoulder.  
  
“Let’s win this!” Futakuchi shouted. “ _DATEKOU–_ ”  
  
“ _FIIIIIGHT!_ ”  
  
—————


End file.
